Capacity For Adapting
by Butterfly8272
Summary: One-shots of the 100 camp. Slightly AU. Bellamy and Clark.


**These stories set up a slightly AU season 1. I wanted to come up with what it would be like if the 100 had been left on their own on Earth for just a bit longer before the rest of the Ark followed. **

It had come over the camp as quickly as a windblown storm. Displaying little warning before a downpour of trial and tribulation was dumped upon the ill-prepared victims, the epidemic that took control of the small settlement showed no mercy to those it infected. One after the other, the young people of the Drop Ship fell prey to the disease that had no boundaries. It began with exhaustion that dug deep to the bone and kept the subject nearly incapacitated, the chills would begin the settle in after several days from a high body temperature and the vomiting would begin. The retching was the worst part, once it started it would not stop. Even an emptied stomach would not prevent the continuous need to heave and gag. The leading cause of demise to infected persons was dehydration, the body could only continue so long being deprived of water and nutrition before it simply gave in to the fight. But some lasted long enough in the depths of the illness to bleed out from the inside out, the continuous and violent tension in the body brought on by the vomiting tore holes in the organs that were not meant for such abuse.

No, there was nothing passive about the deaths occurring around them. Never had those from the Ark seen such a violent ailment and naturally it was something that had caused panic among their numbers. It was greatly assumed that the Grounders were to be blamed for their misfortune, they had used such a weapon against them before and they could certainly do it again. But all theories of treachery and deceit were abolished when numbers of the same people they accused began to filter into the camp, unarmed and debilitated by the same disease that had overtaken the Spacewalkers. A general sense of unease erupted across the camp when the weakened members of a hunting group appeared at the gate but no one was given the opportunity to act on it before their leader stepped in.

"We are doing no better than you are." Bellamy had warned the acting leader of the Grounder party as he had ushered them into the camp. "But we will do what we can for your people until you are fit to return to your own camp." The act of armistice between the two leaders was so spontaneous, yet genuine, that those of the two clans took it as a necessary truce between opposing factions.

Clarke was the one that truly tested the boundaries of the spontaneous call for peace when she called for the Drop Ship to once again serve as quarantine to all those who had fallen ill, securing Spacewalkers and Grounders alike together in the confining hulls of the ship. She had treated the first victim to fall ill, a smaller boy of the group no older than 12. When several more came to her with the same symptoms before the boys fever could even break, Clarke knew action must be taken toward prevention. There had been a general consensus from those closest to her for Clarke to remove herself from the situation, it wasn't safe. But the time had come and gone for such prevention, she had been exposed and there was nothing she could do to change that. Besides if she did help those infected, who would? But she fashioned herself a mask out of torn material to wear and required all those in the ship who were not showing symptoms to do the same. She had no idea if this would work as a preventative measure but it gave those who were treating the victims a bit of peace in mind, including herself if Clarke was being honest.

"Another one dead." Monty reported briskly. He looked just as exhausted as she felt. He had volunteered to stay in quarantine to help and Clarke counted it as a small miracle that he had not shown any sign that he was sick. She did not know what she would do without him.

"Who?" Clarke sighed.

"He was a Grounder, never caught his name."

"Move his body below deck, let Montgomery we're going to need another hole." She instructed. When Monty did not immediately respond, she questioned him. "What?"

"The other Grounders are not going to like that, they'll want to take care of the body their own way. They have some mumbo-jumbo ritual or something." He said.

"It's not an option, they are going to have to understand that. We don't have the luxury of ceremony now." Clarke said wearily. "If it keeps going like it is, burial won't even be an option."

"What will we do then?"

"Burn them." She did not mean for it come out so bluntly but it took to much effort to delicately explain the issue, it would be unavoidable when it became necessary and it was a fact that needed to be understood.

Monty visibly paled behind his mask. "I'll let Montgomery know."

"Thank you." Clarke muttered as he left. She sunk against the nearest wall when he was out of sight, half-heartedly digging her fingertips into the ache that tortured her back. What were they going to do? She had no idea what this was that they were fighting against and it unnerved her that the Grounders admitted to having no answers also. They were unprepared and unmatched against this invisible threat that had begun to destroy the camp. And why would they be anything less? They had been fighting the losing battle since they had been thrown back to Earth without warning. What did they know? They were children. They were too young to be accountable enough to be floated on the Ark but old enough to survive the unknown landscape of Earth, what sense was there in that?

A familiar anger began to rise in Clarke as she let her thoughts wander to the place they always circled back to, the actions of the council and the decision that landed the 100 here. What would her mother do now if she was here? She would be doing much better than Clarke. Her experience and education would have likely saved the lives of those who died before they could be lost. How things would be different if their places were switched. Clarke did not like to admit it, even to herself, but she missed her mother and all the answers she had. Beside a short communication over the radio that Raven was able to rig, they had heard from no one on the Ark in months. Speculation and assumption were the only they had in knowing the fate of their families in the sky. It was a hard truth to swallow but the 100 once again showed their capacity for adapting. All effort was put into building up the camp, complete with fortified walls all around and permanent lodging. They had worked so hard to build what they had, what they had to do to survive. And now Clarke could not help but feel like it was all slipping away with each person that fell ill.

"Clarke." Amber, a girl who had only just begun to show the foreboding symptoms, pulled Clarke out of her reprieve. "Someone's asking for you up top." She looked at her questioningly but Amber only shrugged. Clarke felt for the girl's temperature and then filled the canteen that sat next to her cot before climbing through the maze of hatches that lead to the upper level of the ship. Monty was waiting for her when she pulled herself up the last ladder.

"What is it? What's wrong?" She immediately questioned him.

"It's Finn, he says he needs to talk to you." Monty said, pointing up to the final hatch that lead to outside. It was slightly ajar and natural light was filtering into the confined space of the Drop Ship.

"This is quarantine. What is he doing?" Clarke growled. Monty also only offered a shrug before motioning toward the steel ladder that lead to the hatch. She shook her head in frustration then lifted herself up to the bottom rung. Finn must have been listening from outside because the hatch door was lifted before Clarke could even reach it and he lowered a hand for her to grasp to pull her up.

"What are you doing Finn?" She demanded as soon as she was face to face with him atop the ship. "Do you want to get sick? I told you all to stay away."

"It's the water, Clarke." He ignored her angered questioning. "Lincoln and Octavia found animal carcass in the brook a few clicks away from here. The river is contaminated." Clarke eyed him guardedly for a moment but he seemed unwavering in the information he relayed to her.

"The water?" She sighed, her tense limbs unwound in relief and she sunk in a slight slouch. "You're sure?"

"Positive." Finn assured her. "Lincoln said it looked like the last Fog had killed the animals. The rotting remains and whatever effect the fog has on them must have done a number to the water supply. That's why only a few Grounders have come down with it and our entire camp was exposed. They are mainly upstream."

"That makes sense." Clarke pulled down her bandana so it wrapped around her neck. "Get rid of all of the water we have in camp. We're going to have to get water from that spring Jasper found last winter, it's a ways away from her but it's the only water we know that hasn't been poisoned."

"Raven and Lincoln already took a group out an hour ago, they should be back before nightfall."

"Good." She lifted a hand to rub the back of her sore neck, the bit of news that Finn offered brought enough relief that Clarke had begun to be able to feel just how exhausted she was.

"You need to rest Clarke." Finn carefully watched her slow movements, his brow furrowed. "You've been at it for almost 30 straight hours."

"Knowing the source doesn't help those who are already sick." Clarke said sharply.

"It's not contagious, those who haven't been affected can start to help those who have. This isn't all on you, let us help. Please." He pleaded. Clarke pursed her lips for a moment in thought and then finally relented.

"I'm going to send Monty out to find ginger root, I think it will help with the vomiting, will you go with him? I saw some near the bomb shelter." She asked.

"Of course." Finn stood there silently for an extra second. "How is Bellamy?"

Clarke was able to muster a small shrug with one shoulder before disappearing down the hatch.

He was paler then she had ever seen him before. Used to his dark complexion, Clarke was admittedly startled when she first saw him ill in the quarantined ship and she could not keep the fear from taking over. He was in and out of consciousness for the majority of the last two days and would never know how hard it was for her to leave his side to check on the others, maintaining her tending duties. But she had made one final round to all those who were sick before tentatively allowing Octavia to take over in her place.

"I know where to find you if I need you." Octavia said as if reading her mind. So Clarke slipped away from the crowded hull of the ship to a dimly lit corner one level up. Bellamy was where she had left him, wrapped in a wool blanket found amongst the cargo of the ship, laying on a cot. His eyes were closed as she sunk down on the over turned bucket next to the cot. She listened carefully to his even breathing and allowed her own to meet with his. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. _It was the most comforting she had experienced all day and she felt herself sag with the thought that she could finally remain still for even just a moment.

Bellamy's fever had broken only an hour before and the ginger that Monty and Finn had brought back seemed to lessen his symptoms, he had been able to keep down several ounce of _clean_ water for the first time. His curled locks clung to his forehead from the fevered sweats he had experienced throughout the last two days and Clarke brought her hand to his brow to push his hair back, carefully pushing her fingers through it. Bellamy responded immediately to her touch, rousing him from the fitful sleep he had been in.

"Clarke?" He muttered, turning his head toward her.

"I'm here." She whispered. "You're temperature is finally back down. Do you feel any better?"

He nodded weakly then lifted his heavy eyelids slightly to ensure that it was in fact her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." She sighed. Bellamy raised his hand a few inches and moved it toward her, his knuckles gently brushing against her swollen stomach. "We'll all be okay."

**Disclaimer: Whatever description of disease and medicine is used in this story is totally made up and if anything is correct than it is complete coincidence or from osome vague memory of knowledge I accumulated at some point.**


End file.
